


The Art Class

by cunninglingus



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Nude Modeling, art class, eames looks good naked and knows it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cunninglingus/pseuds/cunninglingus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur found art class boring......until now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art Class

Arthur checks his watch impatiently. His fellow students are beginning to murmur among themselves, chit-chatting about last week’s color wheel project or complaining about the final sketchbook assignment.  
  
Ariadne said he is stuck in a rut.  
Ariadne told him to try something new.  
Ariadne said this class would be fun.  
He’s not going to listen to Ariadne anymore.  
  
Art class, as it turns out, is most certainly _not_ interesting. The only thing that keeps him coming back is the fact that he’d already paid for this class upfront and he's too stubborn to quit when he's already almost done the session. This week's topic, however, is figure-drawing; Arthur told himself that having a live nude model would at least be marginally more interesting than all those fruit bowls he’s had to sketch over the last eight weeks.  
  
 If, that is, she decides to show up.  
  
Mr. Hale paces at the front of the room anxiously. “Um, yes. We’ll just give it a few more minutes, the model will be along shortly.”

It doesn’t seem that way. Seems like this has been _another_ huge waste of time. Why does he even bother trying to have actual interests like normal human beings?  
  
Arthur is starting dread having to draw another fruit bowl when the door clatters open and a man in a dumpy looking  blue coat strides in with a flourish.  
  
“Sorry, sorry,” he says hurriedly in a smooth English accent. “Missed my train.”  
  
Arthur was expecting a girl.  
  
Not….not one of the hottest guys he ever saw.  
  
 _Oh, Jesus._

“Eames,” Mr. Hale sighs, “We start at 7:15 on the dot. Next time, could you at least _try_ to be a bit more punctual?”

  
The class started at 7:30. This must not be Eames’ first time running late.

“Right, sorry mate. Last time, yeah?” Eames grins toothily and unceremoniously begins to take off his coat.

  
Arthur has to tell himself not to stare.

“Alright, well now that you’ve decided to grace us with your illustrious presence we might as well begin. So today, class, we will be working on the human figure. We’ll start with some brief gesture drawings to get the feel for the subject. Thirty seconds per pose - your spear is over there, Eames  -  just try to get the general impression of the figure and don’t worry about the details.”

Don’t worry about the details. That’s not exactly Arthur’s forte. He's the most detail-oriented person at his firm; it's what got him that raise earlier that year, what makes him a brilliant accountant and also what keeps from actually following through on anything unless he does it perfectly the first try. It's also what made him quit music lessons a month in - who knew the flute was such a fucking hard instrument to play?  
  
He stops listening to Mr. Hale as Eames begins undress in earnest.

It looks like the most natural thing in the world for Eames to strip down in front of a room full of thirty art students - as though being clothed is nothing but an unfortunate formality imposed by society and man would do better to revert to its "natural state".  He pulls his t-shirt over his head, revealing broad muscled shoulders and a patchwork of tattoos, then unzips his jeans and tugs his pants and boxers down into a pool at his feet. Stark nude, no preamble, no easing them into it.  He’s almost unbearably attractive…….strong thighs, a thick chest, delicious looking cock….

 Suddenly gesture drawing is the last thing on Arthur’s mind.

Eames rolls his shoulders back and takes hold of the broom handle, posing with it as though he were a Spartan warrior. If it were anyone else it would look ridiculous, but Eames is carrying himself with such solemn gravitas that he might as well be Apollo himself.

Arthur takes a deep breath in. _Okay. Focus._  
  
  
Thirty seconds is most certainly _not_ enough time to get a good rendering and Arthur hates leaving his sketches looking so unfinished. All too soon, Mr. Hale would call “change” and Eames would smoothly ease into a new, equally dignified pose.

_He’s fucking good at that._

“Good. Alright. Now we are going to try doing a thirty minute drawing. I’d like you to focus on contour lines like we talked about last week. Use five tones of highlights and shadows, and don't be afraid to sight with your pencil. Are you ready, Eames?”

Eames shakes himself out. “Always.”

“Alright. Whenever you’re ready, you may begin.”

Eames assumes a balanced, sturdy stance for the lengthy pose: one hand resting on his spear, the other at his side, chin up, proud, confident, strong, like a living Greek statue. Eames is turned such a way that he’s facing Arthur’s easel head on, but Arthur’s already too uncomfortable to dare look into his face. Instead, he focuses his attention on Eames’ legs and calves, then on his thighs, up to his chest and shoulders (not stopping to linger on Eames’ cock - the last thing he needs right now is to get hard, thank you very much) Arthur figures that if he can concentrate on the technical aspects of drawing, on the shading and proportions and perspective, he wouldn’t have to think about the subject matter. It works for awhile….until, that is, he has to sketch Eames’ face.

When Arthur looks up, Eames is staring _straight at him_ , the barest hint of a smile tugging at his plush lips. His gaze is so steady and scrutinizing that Arthur squirms in discomfort, heat rising in his cheeks. How is it that _he’s_ the one who feels naked all of a sudden?

_Damn it, don’t fucking make eye contact._

Focus.

The model doesn’t seem to be wanting to make this easy for him. No, this Eames fellow must know _exactly_ what kind of effect he has on people, because Arthur swears to God he’s fucking _flexing his biceps._ An unexpected pulse of electricity shoots down Arthur’s spine straight to his dick. Can he help it if he hasn’t been laid in a while and he’s a horny as fuck?

Eames _winks_ at him.

_Yep, he knows._

_Bastard._

Mr. Hale comes out of nowhere to check Arthur’s progress.

“Very good, Arthur. You’ve really rendered his hand well; this is some excellent contouring. Yes. But I think you could stand to darken the shadows across the chest here - ” Mr. Hale takes Arthur’s charcoal and brushes gently against the drawing. “You see how the light hits his chest?” he points to Eames.

“Yeah,” mutters Arthur.

“You can also bring out the three dimensionality by highlighting his pectoral..….and here across his buttock.”

Eames is _definitely_ smiling at him.

“Okay, fine, I get it,” Arthur says, already more embarrassed than he ever thought possible and wishing desperately for Mr. Hale to fuck off already.

“Alright. Keep it up,” Mr. Hale says obliviously, turning to the student next to Arthur.

 Arthur shoots a dark look at Eames, but that idiot doesn’t seem to take the hint.

When Mr. Hale calls for a ten minute bathroom break, Arthur practically bolts out of the room. He’s half-hard and horny and _fuck fuck fuck_ Eames knows and is totally messing with him.

“Right,” Arthur says to himself in the mirror after he splashes water on his face. When he gets home he’s going to jerk off until his dick is raw.  
  
Arthur returns to the studio to find Eames in a bathrobe inspecting his drawing.  He’d hate showing his work to _anyone_ , let alone the model. Moreover, he hates how nervous he is at the prospect of having to engage this man in conversation.

“This is good work,” Eames says, holding his fingers to his stubbly chin in an overly cliché display of artistic connoisseurship. Arthur would roll his eyes if he weren’t so fucking turned on.

“Thanks,” Arthur says dumbly, organizing his conte for the next round of sketches.

“You did a good job on my buttock.” he says cheekily.

Arthur flushes.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Just between you and me,” Eames goes on, leaning in close and lowering his voice, “all the other sketches are absolute shit.”

“Maybe they had a shitty model,” Arthur counters, trying to sound blasé but instead coming off a little defensive. Suspiciously so.

Eames grins.  
  
“I’d like to buy it.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Your work. How much?”  
  
“You want to buy a nude drawing of yourself,” Arthur says slowly.  
  
“Yeah, why not? I like it.”  
  
Arthur thinks for a minute. “Fifty dollars.”  
|  
“Fifty dollars!” Eames exclaims incredulously. “Bloody hell, what do you think nude modelling pays?”  
  
Arthur can’t quash the small smile he feels tugging at his lips. It’s totally unlike him to be so forward, but fuck it, Arthur’s horny and this guy is _gorgeous_. This could be his only chance, and he might as well give it a try: “Alright…..how about your phone number then?”  
  
Eames pauses and for a second Arthur feels like he’s just humiliated himself all over again.  
  
Then Eames’s face breaks out into a wide grin.  
  
“Deal.”


End file.
